dēsīderium
by LottaEstevez
Summary: "He feels as though he has cried oceans because of her and every monday when he walks into the office she looks as though she didn't feel a single drop of rain. And even though they are basically on the same boat, it doesn't matter because their damn boat is sinking." LeslieXBen


dēsīderium

(n.) an ardent desire or longing, particularly for something once had; grief or regret for the absence or loss of something or someone

|Latin|

He never should have gotten involved in the first place and yet she still has his heart. Now he cannot stand being touched any more because he just craves her affection so, so much. He loathes the nights when his fingers smell of paper instead of her. Because how can he fall out of love with the love of his life? They just weren't made to break like this. They weren't meant to break at all. But sometimes fate doesn't get the memo, he muses.

When he is alone, all he seems to do is get a little drunk, cry and sleep. He feels as though he has cried oceans because of her and every monday when he walks into the office she looks as though she didn't feel a single drop of rain. And even though they are basically on the same boat, it doesn't matter because their damn boat is sinking. Whenever he stands in front of her, he just misses her so, so freaking much that he thinks, no knows, it would be easier, holding onto the wind than her.

He misses how she exhaled waffles and he inhaled her. Misses how she used to hog all the covers at night. Misses how she didn't even seem to need any sleep. Misses how she smiled at him and he died a little every time.

The only thing he wants between them is pillows and blankets, not campaigns and polls. But here he is, looking at old pictures of them again, and again and again and – . Oh, good lord, they were so beautiful back then, she was. Still is but he can't let his mind go there. And of course it still wanders there whenever he isn't actively trying to shut her out. And even though the world doesn't revolve around her, his world does.

He feels as though she was saving two souls from themselves at once when she was with him and now one of them is dying. And he is never sure of anything, has never been sure of his actions, but he was so fucking sure of her. He wonders what went wrong, how they went from being able to talk about everything to not being able to mutter a simple good morning without making his chest ache.

The cruelest thing that ever happened to him was falling for her at the wrong time. Because he knows that lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place and if it already did there's no chance of ever getting back together with her, right? And that first morning after their break-up, she was gone and there was no tomorrow.

He knows she is as sorry as he is, maybe even more so but instead of trying to fix him, she keeps on hurting him again and again when she pretends that they can just be friends. Like normal, freaking people. Can't she see that it's just not possible? How can you be friends with someone you're in love with? And now all she's left him with are the memories and the aftertaste.

And maybe sometimes she was a little too loud but her love just couldn't be whispered and he misses her voice so damn much. Not her every day typical work voice but the soft melodies of his name hummed against his skin. He usually doesn't like messes but he likes her.

And he wonders what would have happened if they had just kissed that day instead of fought when she wanted to wave his decapitated head on a stick. But that is in the past now, he can't unsay what he said and if he is being totally honest with himself, she is a little selfish because she cannot, cannot, cannot expect him to just behave like they're friends now.

In his mind, her name is like a swear word he uses too fucking much and loving her is like trying to enjoy in the sun in December. If he just knew their last kiss would have been their last one, he wouldn't have just kissed her good-night, he would have kissed her good-bye. And now his memory of that kiss tears him apart every time he thinks about it and there's just so much pain.

She'll never know about this, but every day after he is done with work, he swings by her office and runs his fingers over the name placate outside her door, just to feel a little bit of Leslie Knope against his skin again, just for a few seconds.

:fin:


End file.
